


Cha Cha Real Smooth

by crossroadswrite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, just stupid fucking boys in love and dancing gotdamnit, leave me be, wedding setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6943942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you want to dance?” Derek blurts out, and then blushes at least two shades darker.</p><p>Stiles blinks at him in stunned silence for a beat or two, before he can gather his wits enough to form an answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cha Cha Real Smooth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerlytired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerlytired/gifts).



> Birthday Gift for my sweetest little punk who still resists my PTA mom vibes and likes to destroy my life by sending me pics of Aledaide Kane, _rude af_. But I love you Jamie, you're an amazing friend and I honestly feel so lucky to have you in my life.
> 
> I'm not 100% happy with it but I don't think I'd ever be happy with anything because you deserve the BEST and sadly my skills aren't good enough for me to write you the best.
> 
> So here. Have some stupid boys in love + dancing. Happy belated birthday!!
> 
> And of course the biggest thank you to my bro, my broest of bros, my headcanon soulmate [LadyDrace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace), y'all should check Minna out she's pure gold.

Stiles is sitting at the bar, nursing a flute of champagne as Boyd spins Erica around slowly on the dance floor to the soft beat of their chosen wedding song.

Erica looks beautiful, smiling dazzlingly at her husband, and Boyd looks the kind of content that soaks into your bones, smiling, soft and smitten, down at her.

Stiles takes a sip of his drink and looks away, feeling like he’s intruding on their moment somehow.

The chair beside him creaks when someone sits down and Stiles looks up slowly, letting his eyes catch on how the well-fitted suit clings to Derek’s thighs and arms.

“Are your allergies better?” he asks, quirking his lips in amusement.

“Yes,” Derek says, flush tinting the very tips of his ears.

Stiles can practically feel himself melting at the sight, and it’s all he can do not to kiss that man right here where he sits.

It’d be so easy too. All he’d have to do is lean forward and dote a kiss upon him, and Derek  _ probably _ wouldn’t say anything about it.

But he refrains, because it’s not the right moment.

“It’s okay if you teared up, you know. No one expects you to be the big bad Alpha a hundred percent of the time,” Stiles says softly, keeping his voice low and intimate, just for the two of them to hear.

“I shouldn’t-“

“You’re a good Alpha. It took you a while there, but you  _ are _ a good Alpha. Your pack is happy and you gave one hell of a speech, I’m pretty sure I even saw  _ Jackson _ tear up. And if Mr. Lizardface can tear up, so can you.”

Derek’s blush trickles down from his ears all the way to his cheekbones, a tiny smile quirking the corner of his lips just so.

Stiles turns a little more towards him, putting an elbow up on the bar and supporting his cheek in his hand, giving Derek the exact same stupid smile Boyd gives Erica and not even caring how transparent he is, how  _ obvious _ . But then again they passed subtle three years back when they were hunting that succubus and they both saw each other in that hell creature.

The thing is, he can’t  _ not _ look. Not when Derek is like this, all soft edges and quiet smiles, finally settled in his own flesh, finally able to breathe.

Stiles can confess he’s a bit of a kinky fucker, but nothing beats his kink over seeing Derek Hale happy and content.

He’s so gone on this idiot, it’s kind of disgusting.

“Your speech was nice too,” Derek offers, turning his barstool so they’re facing each other a little better.

“You think?” he laughs. “I’m pretty sure that bit about the harpies scared all the poor unsuspecting humans attending.”

Derek huffs a laugh and knocks their knees together playfully.

“Erica’s mom was wondering if Erica had chosen you as her bridesman just to spite her.”

Stiles grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s at least forty percent of the reason why she chose me and not Cora.”

Derek’s eyes have a softness peeking at the corners, something that steals Stiles’ breath away, especially since he knows how  _ hard _ it was to bring softness back to Derek’s body, for him to stop punishing himself with unforgiving workouts.

Stiles lives for how  _ soft _ Derek has become. 

The softness around his eyes and in the corners of his mouth, the softness of his blush and his hands when handling small things, the softness in his muscles that have a little more give now even if they’re as well defined as ever.

“Do you want to dance?” Derek blurts out, and then blushes at least two shades darker.

Stiles blinks at him in stunned silence for a beat or two, before he can gather his wits enough to form an answer.

“You don’t dance,” he informs Derek as if he  _ doesn’t know _ , as if Derek hasn’t been loudly announcing it every time they manage to drag him to one club or another. 

It’s a known fact that Derek Hale does not dance.

“I can’t really club dance,” Derek says a little shyly, like he’s confessing to something. “But, um, I can ballroom dance. One my aunts, she used to have a studio.”

“No way,” Stiles says, completely delighted by this new information. “Tiny Derek learned how to cha-cha real smooth?” he asks, getting up from his seat and offering Derek his hand.

Derek takes it with a pleased smile, leading Stiles to the dance floor where a handful of couples are swaying around to something sickly sweet.

“Tiny Derek knew how to waltz and salsa and a couple other ballroom dances,” Derek confirms. “But I was best at tap dancing.”

Stiles laughs, squeezing Derek’s fingers  in a fond gesture, bumping their shoulders together before Derek spins him and places one hand on his hip.

“No way,” Stiles says and he knows he’s smiling stupidly, knows he probably looks like a kid at Christmas because every single little piece of information Derek gives him about his youth is like a gift. “Were you any good at it?”

“I won the regional dance competition twice in a row,” Derek confesses, ducking his head and pulling Stiles a little closer. And with that he starts waltzing him around the dance floor with a fluidity and practiced ease no one would expect coming from him.

Stiles lets Derek lead, too busy trying to figure out what color Derek’s eyes  _ really _ are, and trying his best not to look at him as lovingly as he feels because-

Because maybe it’s not the right time yet. Not the right moment. Because maybe it wouldn’t be right to steal the spotlight from Erica’s reception with their first kiss. Because maybe Stiles is afraid Derek will reject him, and that all these years flirting and dancing around and increasingly closer to each other were all in his head.

“I did ballet,” Stiles blurts out. “For about two months before Mom got sick. I don’t really remember the name of the studio, though.”

“My aunt taught ballet. She made me do it for a while when I was going through my rebellious phase. She said it’d give me discipline.”

Stiles laughs.

“Maybe we met,” he jokes.

Derek grins. “Maybe.” 

The song comes to a halt and so do they, closer than they had started, the tips of their shiny dress shoes kissing, both their breathings coming a little quicker.

“Thanks for telling me,” Stiles says because it seems like the right thing. He squeezes Derek’s shoulder and tries not to get completely out of breath when Derek gives him his shy, pleased smile, the one that could raise entire villages.

“I like telling you things,” he says as a new song starts playing, something even slower, meant to be swayed and not danced to.

Derek pulls him a little closer by the hips, loops both his arms loosely around them; Stiles mimics him as they start swaying softly in the same spot as some artist or other croons about love.

“And I like when you tell me things too,” Derek continues. “I like sharing my life with you.”

Stiles ducks his head, tries not to kiss this ridiculous perfect man in front of him, who has come  _ so far _ from who he started out to be, and has become someone so good that sometimes Stiles has to sit himself down and re-evaluate how lucky he really is.

“I like sharing my life with you too,” he says back, and pretends that sentence doesn’t feel a lot like exchanging those three little words.

“Hey,” Derek says and stops swaying altogether.

He reaches for Stiles’ chin with slightly shaky fingers and makes him look up. And then very carefully, he leans forward, until there’s just a breath of space between them.

“If you don’t want this, now would be a nice time to punch me in the face and say so,” Derek tells him, eyes flickering between Stiles’ before dropping to his mouth.

Stiles calls him an idiot, grabs him the lapels of his well-fitted suit and kisses the living daylights out of the man he loves.

As first kisses go, it’s pretty phenomenal, he’s not going to lie. It’s sweet and tender where it needs to be and filled with enough desperation and longing and  _ finally _ that it makes all these years they’ve both been waiting worth it.

It’s one of the most breathtaking, soul shattering, world affirming kisses Stiles has ever had in his life, and it would even be  _ perfect _ if a bouquet of flowers didn’t hit him square in the side of the head as soon as they pulled back.

“You just made me lose fifty bucks to McCall, you assholes,” Eirca shouts at them, all the way from the guest of honor’s table.  

They both turn to see her marching towards them with a kind of  _ intent  _ that barely leaves them time to react before they each have an armful of sniffling Erica.

“I’m so happy for you two,” she sniffles, voice watery and filled with emotion. “This is the best wedding present anyone could ever get me.”

“What about the-“ Stiles starts.

“ _ The best!” _ she tells him aggressively, gripping his arm extra hard.

“Okay,” he concedes, looking over at Derek who’s smiling at them so fondly it makes something in Stiles’ heart ache.

Erica puts a hand softly on Stiles’ cheek and the other on Derek’s. “I love you both,” she tells them. “But if you skip my reception to fuck in the stairwell I will hunt your asses down and beat you both with a spoon.”

“Aww, I love you too,” Stiles coos while Derek frowns and mumbles a defeated, “I am your Alpha.”

She nods, seemingly satisfied with their response, before turning and marching back to her husband, throwing herself in his lap and trusting that he’ll catch her. He always does.

They stand there in the middle of the dance floor, a little shell shocked, a little flushed, sneaking glances at each other.

“When this is over we should go on a date,” Stiles tells him.

“We should.”

“And until then…”

Derek smirks and pulls Stiles flush to him as something a little more upbeat starts playing, a little more sexy. “And until then I can show you what other types of dance I know,” he says and then starts leading Stiles with his  _ hips _ and, well, he will never have any complains to  _ that _ .

**Author's Note:**

> *throws hands up* I GUESS THIS TRASH WILL HAVE TO DO HAPPY BIRTHDAY U NERD


End file.
